The Box
Stanford University
Fall 2002
1.
Sam arrived at his dorm with a single duffle bag and two days' worth of travel grime. It had taken nearly all his savings to get from Kansas to Stanford. The bus ride had been long, and Sam kept his hood up and headphones in, avoiding conversation.
Alone, he checked in at the front desk and squeezed through a crowd of excited freshmen and their families—parents, siblings, grandparents—offering support, hugs, and tears. After receiving his packet with the room key, a couple of bright-eyed upperclassmen offered to help carry his things upstairs. When Sam explained he had everything in his duffle, they looked confused, then sympathetic, and quickly moved on.
It wasn't so bad, not really. Sam was used to being alone. As young as age nine, Dad and Dean would leave him alone for days while they hunted. When he was ten, he slipped and mentioned to a teacher that he was staying alone. The next thing he knew, he was placed in child protective services. Terrified he'd never see his brother or dad again, Sam refused to speak to anyone—not even to say his name–until Dad and Dean came for him days later.
Dad went back to hunt that same day.
Dean would not leave his side for weeks.
After that, Sam learned never to tell the truth about his family and never to ask for help when Dad and Dean were gone. He learned to keep a butterfly knife on him at all times. He learned to mow lawns, shovel driveways, walk dogs, and wash dishes to earn cash just in case Dad hadn't left enough to last until they returned—or in case they never came back at all.
At night, when left alone, sleep never came easy. Sam would read epic adventure stories—especially The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings—over and over. To him, Dad and Dean were like Aragorn and Legolas leading the quest, while he was an unnamed hobbit left behind in the Shire. Unworthy.
Sam had faced monsters and predators of all kinds from a young age, but loneliness and fear were far worse—especially his fear of losing Dean. That fear kept him up at night and distracted him during the day. It felt so real, like a ghost, a ghoul, a shifter, or a rugaru. Whatever form it took, it was his constant companion when Dean was gone.
On those dark, lonely nights, he often reread Samwise's words:
"But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines, it will shine out the clearer."
As Sam grew older, he was allowed to join the hunts. From the start, he was fast and fearless. Dean said he had good instincts and natural talent. Dad's continued inclusion of Sam in their hunts was his form of approval.
Still, Sam sometimes lobbied to stay behind so he could go to school. And while school was important, he decided it was easier not to make friends at the schools he attended. He was friendly, but friendships never seemed to work out. He'd never be there long enough.
Attachments were just too hard.
2.
Sam hadn't expected his college news to be met with open arms, but he had hoped it would be seen as a good opportunity—or at least acknowledged as an achievement. Instead, his dad blindsided him with an ultimatum: college or family. That moment confirmed what Sam had feared: to Dad, he was nothing more than a soldier. Not a son. Never a son.
In that instant, Sam's path became clear: he was done living by Dad's rules. He was done with any family claims on his life.
So he left.
Entering his dorm room—his home for the next year—Sam marveled at the thought of staying in one place for so long. He'd be here from August to May.
As part of his scholarship, Stanford provided him with a work-study job, a bank account at the student credit union, and a stipend for books and essentials. They also provided an "unlimited" meal plan and arranged some basic dorm supplies: sheets, a thin blanket, a pillow, and a few towels. The room had two beds, two desks, and two sets of drawers.
It was spartan, but it was his.
Sam quickly unpacked and made his bed. His knife went under the mattress, salt on the windowsill. He found $200 stuffed into his bag, money he hadn't packed.
Dean.
Sam had no idea when his roommate would arrive, but he didn't care. He needed a shower and then some shopping. As Sam returned to his room, he heard his roommate and his family starting to unpack. He paused outside the door to make himself a little more presentable and overheard a female voice:
"I can't believe this is all your roommate has. Where's all his stuff? Honey, you're a legacy. You should not be roommates with just anyone. Maybe we should ask to switch rooms."
An adult male voice responded, "Stop being over-protective. James will be exposed to all sorts of people at college."
Overhearing this, Sam realized: he'd always be seen as an outsider—
—even on the first day.
Just then, a pretty brunette walked by and said, "See you later, tall boy."
Maybe college wouldn't be so bad.
3.
The unlimited meal plan was easily the best part of college. Hot meals were available at all hours. But the classes were tough—Latin, English Literature, Biology, and Calculus. He'd missed so much background information from moving between schools that keeping up was a struggle at first. During his first week, Sam spent most of his time in a quiet corner of the library, trying to teach himself what he'd missed. But Sam had always been good in math and had a near-perfect memory for things he had read, which helped him catch up quickly.
His routine was the same every day: He woke up early for his work-study job at the student union from 6 to 10, grabbed breakfast on his break, and spent the rest of the day in class or at the library. Nights were for homework, and late nights were for the gym or running in the dark.
At times, he felt a subtle unease, as if something was slightly out of balance in this shiny new world. Everything felt too big, too bright, too busy. There wasn't enough air in his lungs, like he'd been running too long, too far, too fast, but couldn't stop to rest. Some nights—many nights—sleep was hard to come by, and he found himself wishing for his Lord of the Rings books.
James, his roommate, was friendly. Not at all as snobby as he had expected after the first day. James often invited Sam to join him for meals—breakfast, lunch, dinner—but Sam declined each time, offering transparent excuses. He noticed groups of people hanging out in each other's dorm rooms, laughing and joking. Over time, he began to see the same faces again and again, nodding at them in quiet recognition. He was polite to everyone, but nothing beyond the basics. He spent more and more time running or in the gym. His headphones were often on, even if the music was off.
Still, Sam couldn't help noticing the looks and smiles he got—from both girls and guys, especially at the gym, but also in other places. He was startled when someone referred to him as "Dean" when they thought he was not listening. It happened more than once, always by a girl giggling with a friend.
There was one blonde who caught his eye in class. Even from across the room, her smile lit up the world. She was always the center of attention, while he usually sat in the back corner, hoping not to be noticed despite his growing 6-foot-plus frame.
Once, after he had been called upon to answer in class, she looked at him and smiled, and for a moment, something inside him warmed in a way that had never happened before.
He didn't know one smile could fill up all your cracks and make you feel shiny and bright – like all the darkness in your world had suddenly disappeared. Shaken, he quickly looked down, hoping no one noticed the flush creeping up his neck.
He stayed as far away from her as possible after that – he had no intention of being Icarus.
4.
Being out of contact with Dean was the worst part of college. Sam had spent much of his life trying to be like him—studying his actions, his choices. Until he realized Dean followed Dad's orders without question–no matter how little sense they made.
Sam could never do that.
As he started hunting with Dad and Dean more often, it was hard to watch his brother repeatedly be used as bait for monsters. Dean deserved better than to be killed by a creature or a ghost, better than to end up like Mom. He didn't understand why Dean didn't demand better for himself.
When they hunted, Sam asked Dad why he did things the way he did, but Dad took each question as a personal attack. It would become volatile. Dean wanted Sam to do what Dad said, but Sam just couldn't –wouldn't. He needed to know the why, especially when his brother's life was on the line.
Sam realized this wasn't working—for any of them. Dad hated being questioned, Dean hated being stuck in the middle, and Sam hated following Dad's commands.
Mr. Wyatt was the first person to tell Sam he could choose his own path and live the life he wanted. He explained that a few key decisions shape a person's entire life, and Sam needed to make those decisions for himself. Before Mr. Wyatt, no one had ever told Sam he had a choice in anything important.
Sam thought about that for years.
Eventually, Sam realized he wanted to go to college—to learn, connect with others, and live a normal life. His guidance counselor helped him sign up for the SATs, and they were both shocked by his perfect scores. His counselor loved his essays and told him about a scholarship at Stanford.
Sam wanted to tell Dean—he thought Dean might understand. But he worried that Dean would bear the weight of knowing and not telling Dad. Dean was always blamed for Sam's choices, and he'd already shielded Sam from Dad too many times. Sam couldn't add to that burden. So, he kept it to himself, hoping that someday Dean would understand.
5.
Sam knew Dean would be angry at him for leaving the way he had. For leaving at all. But what hurt Sam was that Dean hadn't stood up for him when Dad said, "If you leave for college, don't come back."
Instead, Dean just left for the bar.
Since then, Sam felt truly alone in a way he never had before.
He missed his brother, but didn't know how—or if he wanted to—reach out after everything that had happened.
6.
Despite his shiny new life, Sam learned he could not outrun his biggest fear. It was still his constant companion. At night, he had dreams – nightmares – of hunts gone wrong, and Sam not being there to protect his brother. Of Dean's death being his fault. Or Dad's.
Every day, he checked the papers, scoured online for stories about "their kind of cases" gone wrong, and scanned the death notices for 22-year-old males.
One night, unable to sleep, Sam put on his brown hoodie–the one he had taken from Dean on the night he had left–and walked to the payphone outside his dorm. Sam used the emergency phone card he'd kept in his wallet and called Dean from a payphone on campus. He didn't know what he would say.
Although it was three or four in the morning, Dean answered almost immediately.
"Sam?" His voice was thick with concern.
Sam's heart raced, his hands shook.
Are you okay? Are we okay? Are we still brothers?
No words came out.
"Hey, Sam," Dean repeated, his voice softer now.
It was the tone Dean used when he knew Sam was scared or worried.
The gentleness in his voice—after the way Sam had left—hit him like a physical blow. He had expected anger, maybe even welcomed it. But this... this was something he wasn't prepared for.
Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. A loud roaring filled his ears, drowning out everything else. The world seemed to tilt, spinning uncontrollably.
He dropped the phone, gasping for air. He doubled over, struggling to steady his breath, and ended up sitting on the ground, his head between his legs, fighting to regain control.
He couldn't understand why his cheeks were wet.
Hey, Sam?
7.
One night, as Sam was getting ready for bed, he felt James watching him closely. Sam usually came back to the room late, after James had already fallen asleep, to avoid any conversation.
"Sam, can I ask you something?" James said.
Oh, shit, Sam thought.
"Sure," he answered.
"Who's Dean?"
"My brother. Why?"
"You talk in your sleep. I hear his name a lot."
Sam flushed, "Oh man, I'm sorry if I wake you."
"No, it's fine. You're an easy roommate—never here. It's kinda great. I was just curious. Are you guys close?"
Sam understood what James was really asking: Sam, are you close to anyone in your life?
"We were, until I left. My dad and brother wanted me to stay and help with the… family business, but I left for college. The night I left, my Dad told me if I left, to never come back." Sam admitted.
Sam had never said this to anyone. And it did something unexpected – it made him feel a little less heavy. A little less alone.
"Here I am." Sam offered a half-smile.
James gave out a low whistle.
"Fuck me… What about your mom?"
"She died when I was six months old." Sam surprised himself with more honesty.
James was quiet for a moment, reached into his backpack and offered Sam a baggie.
"Wanna gummy?"
Sam was tempted, but declined.
"James, speaking of Dean, do you know why people call me Dean? I overhear it sometimes, which is strange given…."
James understood immediately. It must be odd for Sam to be called by the name of his estranged brother. "I suppose you don't watch Gilmore Girls? You look just like a character on there named Dean. He's hot, and the girls seem to like him."
Shit, Sam thought. That's not going to stop anytime soon. Any other name…
James hesitated before asking, "Sam, I've gotta ask. Why do you keep that knife under your mattress? It's not like I care, but it would be good to know why. Are you on the run from something? I see you check for it every night…."
"No, it's nothing like that. I—I grew up on the road. I was smaller then, called 'midget' into high school… and we moved a lot,... y'know? I just needed…. I got used to it. That's all. I can move it if it bothers you. Just please don't tell anyone, I can't get kicked out." Sam's voice tightened but he forced himself to hold James's gaze as he said this.
He held his breath, bracing for James' reaction.
Here comes the pity.
James studied him for a moment, his brown eyes shifting from curiosity to understanding. But not pity. Maybe even a little respect.
James nodded, still watching Sam, and then threw him the baggie.
"Take the fucking edible Sammy-boy. You need to lighten the hell up."
8.
A month into college, Sam had settled into a routine. He'd put on some weight and grown taller. He'd need new clothes soon, but that could wait until he saved up enough. First, he needed a new backpack, a phone, and eventually, his own computer.
Sam made a point of getting back to the room before James went to bed, and they'd talk for a bit each night. It became Sam's favorite time of the day. James had a way of asking without judging, being honest without oversharing, and asking insightful questions without intruding. He was also funny. When James asked about the salt on the windowsill, Sam explained it as a family superstition.
Occasionally, James would have friends over, and Sam started talking to them, too. He started eating meals and going to the library with others. Sam helped him with academics, especially math. James hated math. Sam liked to help him.
After their weekly math session, James would insist on sharing his stash with Sam. As Dean would have said, edibles were awesome. Pizza tasted even better when wasted, and Sam slept so much better afterward.
He wondered what Dean would say about his new life. Sam really missed him.
One night, while eating pizza, James mentioned a betting pool on who would be the first to get Sam into bed. He hesitantly told Sam that the pool included men and women, unsure how Sam would feel about that.
Sam laughed.
"Do I get a cut of the winnings?"
James burst out laughing after a brief look of shock at the response, "Man, you are not who you appear to be."
Man, you have no idea, Sam almost said out loud.
"Sammy-boy, you've got everything going for you. Why be a monk? It's like you're punishing yourself. I'd kill to walk around in your shoes for a day—or even just a night."
Sam didn't answer. He honestly didn't know.
Was he punishing himself? Or was he just an awkward nerd who would never fit in?
9.
One night, as Sam walked into the dorm, the student working at the front desk asked, "Are you Sam Winchester?"
Sam nodded.
"There's a box for you. Don't you ever check your mailbox?"
What mailbox?
Sam glanced at the large box, assuming it was a mistake. He hadn't ordered anything, but he took it anyway. There was no return address—just a printed label. He carried it upstairs, set it down, and left it unopened. Unease gnawed at him. What could be inside? Who—or what—had found him?
It sat unopened for two days. Finally, on the second night of Sam looking like he'd seen a ghost and pacing nervously, James said, "If you don't open it, I will."
Sam agreed.
James asked if he should leave while Sam opened it, but Sam asked James to stay.
Inside the box, Sam found an ugly but warm comforter covered in pink flamingos, extra pillows with silhouettes of naked women on the pillowcases, a bathrobe with hotel initials on it, dozens of sample-size toiletries, a few bags of his favorite sour candy, and packs of scented condoms labeled with a yellow post-it: "Don't Forget!"
Sam burst into laughter — laughter that was both relief and joy.
James had never heard Sam sound happy before. He sounded carefree, and for a moment, James saw a version of Sam who didn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Sam dug deeper into the box. He found two pairs of jeans, longer than his usual size, and a couple of T-shirts wrapped around a bottle of whiskey labeled "For Studying." He also found four dog-eared books—the ones he'd left behind but missed every night when he couldn't sleep. They were labeled "Elves and Shit."
Finally, he pulled out the cell phone he'd left in the drawer when he left home: "You left this, fucker."
He put the phone on his desk.
Later.
10.
It had been far too long since Dean had heard from Sam. Dean felt a gnawing in his stomach and the need for action.
He'd sent that box a bit ago. Finding Sam's address had taken more effort than he'd expected. Sam was emancipated, and no family could access his private info. Sam's address was "private" from him. That hurt.
Dean had called every dorm until he finally got the address. Then, he gathered the essentials Sam should've had for college.
He didn't like the way Sam had left. But, hell, he didn't blame him, not after what Dad had said. Dad had said the one thing that was most likely to push Sam away for good: If you go, don't come back.
It had shocked Dean, too.
Dean had to separate them before they came to blows. Sam was not yet big enough for that fight. He still needed protecting—his baby brother always would. So Dean stepped in. Then he left them both behind to get drunk, hoping they'd figure their shit out without him – for once.
Sam did.
He just up and left.
And Dad just sat in the darkness, smoking his cigarette, silent.
After a few days of brooding, Dean came to a realization: somehow, his baby brother had not only gotten into one of the top colleges in the country, but he'd managed to get a full ride. Sam had done that. On his own.
Dean had so many questions. How had he done it? When? Why Stanford? But there was one question that kept him up at night: Why hadn't Sammy told him?
When did his baby brother start keeping secrets from him?
11.
As the days dragged on, Dean felt a gnawing guilt for not standing up for Sam with Dad. Even though the fucker had kept it all a secret.
And he realized that Sam was probably pissed at him, given his radio silence.
So they were both angry. Never a good scenario. They had fought it out before. He'd also waited out Sam's anger before, but this felt different. Dean wondered if he should just drive out to Stanford, face Sam in person, and get it all out—the good and the bad so that they could get back to being brothers again.
But Dean wasn't sure he was ready for that. Part of him wanted to deck Sam. The other part just wanted to pull him into a hug and beg him to come back.
Then, one night, around 4 a.m., his phone rang, and he knew, without a doubt, it was Sam.
"Sam?" He answered quickly, before Sam could hang up.
Silence.
But there was breathing. Sam's breathing. Labored. Too fast. Dean's heart cracked at the sound, and his big brother instinct kicked in.
"Hey, Sam," —
—-he said quietly, trying to coax Sam into talking, something he knew was hard for Sam when he got upset. For as much as Sam talked sometimes, he could get very quiet, too. Silent–like the time he had been placed with Child Protective Services and wouldn't talk for days after. Not even to Dean.
Another sound—barely audible—and then the line went dead.
Dean had felt Sam's heightened emotion. Not anger. Panic? Sammy had tried; Dean knew that, too. Was it a start? Or would he never hear from him again? It was hard to tell.
But Sam had tried.
Dean hoped the box he had sent a few days after that call would show Sam that he was still there for him. No matter how mad he still was at how he left. That he had left.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles white. He needed to hunt, needed the focus, the action—to escape the question that kept echoing in his mind: When had Sam forgotten that they were family?
12.
Sam had just finished telling James about when he and Dean went camping, only to realize they'd packed nothing but candy and beer. James thought it was nice to see Sam laughing at family memories, rather than wincing and sulking.
As they took another gulp of whiskey, James couldn't help but be surprised by Sam's tolerance. He'd always thought his roommate didn't drink, but clearly, he did—and had a serious tolerance for the hard stuff.
Sam was an endless mystery.
James liked Sam a lot, despite his aloofness during the first few weeks of school and his nightmares, which woke him most nights. Unlike others he had met, there was nothing fake about Sam. He didn't offer up much about himself, but when he spoke, it felt real.
But Sam had an edge to him, and kept a knife under the bed and on him at all times. And the salt was so very odd.
James thought Sam could be dangerous.
But not to him. He knew he could trust Sam Winchester with his life.
He wondered if he could trust him with the truth.
James had an invite to the exclusive legacy party next week and could bring one guest. He'd assumed it would be a girl, but after thinking about it, he wanted to take Sam. It would be good for him to meet more people and maybe build some connections. So, he asked again.
This time, Sam's cheeks flushed slightly as he responded, "Do you think that blonde from calculus will be there?"
13.
Sam was still awake after James passed out, unable to tolerate the hard stuff.
It was time, past time.
He finally opened his old phone, which had remained untouched on his desk until now. It was a link to the life he had left behind.
He saw a missed call from Dean — from the night he'd left.
He felt his breath speed up and that sound in his ears. He sat down.
Dean had tried to reach him.
To stop him? To say goodbye? To tell him never to come back?
Again, he heard two words in his head. So gentle.
Hey, Sam.
Then he heard what Dean had been trying to tell him —-
- in those two words —-
—-and in that box.
Sam was ready to listen.
Finally.
14.
Dean was getting used to his new life. It wasn't perfect, but it was okay—so long as he kept moving. With Sam gone, there was less to worry about. No more peacekeeping between Sam and Dad.
He kept busy—seeking out female company, drinking, hunting—anything to fill the silence. Staying busy was the key. Dean could be okay like this. For a while. Not forever. But for now, Sam could be a dork college student.
He'd need his brother back someday.
All Dean wanted, needed, was to know that Sam could reach out if he ever needed to—and that he could reach Sam, too, if things went south.
His phone buzzed.
A text.
His heart stopped while he opened the phone to look at the message.
"Thanks asshole. Stay safe. I'm here if you need me."
Relief washed over him.
15.
Sam had finally reached out. His baby brother was still there. And he was worried, as always; "stay safe" was what Sam would say to Dean every time Dean left with Dad.
Ten words from Sam felt like a damn speech after weeks of silence.
They were okay. Or would be. He hoped.
Then, his phone buzzed again, a second text.
"Thanks for the extra cash. You didn't need to do that."
Extra cash?
That wasn't him.
Dean's mind immediately flashed back to Dad, awake in the dead of night, knowing Sam had left, but stopping Dean from going after him.
Dad had been quiet in the days after Sam left. Drinking more.
One afternoon, Dean overheard him on the phone with Stanford, asking about Sam's scholarship, his whereabouts, food, books, housing. Then, Dad had disappeared, telling Dean he was working a job alone. When he came back, Dean found gas receipts for California in the trash.
Dad must've checked in on Sam and made sure that there were people keeping watch over him. Dad knew hunters everywhere. No matter what he'd said that night, Dad would take care of Sam.
They were family.
A smile tugged at the corners of his eyes.
Extra cash.
Maybe the hot waitress would be working again tonight. Maybe she had a twin.